Tenfold

by Mark Hayden

  16 — One of our Own

  Part Two of the firearms course was more interesting than Part One, though a lot less fun, and I got to meet instructors other than PS Smith. On Wednesday afternoon, a Commander came down to discuss the finer points of solo work. You have to remember that this is the basic course, designed to make sure that police officers were safe to carry weapons, not an advanced course for decision makers.

  We went through Threat Evaluation, where you ask how much of a threat the target poses, and Risk Assessment, where you ask whether someone else might get hurt.

  ‘What about Mission Objectives?’ I asked. Entirely innocently, I might add. I thought it was a sensible question.

  For some reason, the Commander sucked in his cheeks and PS Smith coughed. ‘What “Mission Objectives”?’ asked the Commander.

  ‘When you ask yourself, “If I don’t shoot, will the bastard get away?” sir.’

  The Commander blinked. PS Smith grinned. ‘Get many of those missions, do you Clarke? Do tell. I’d love to know.’

  Oops. I’d forgotten where I was. ‘Sorry, sir. I could have phrased that better.’

  After the Commander left, PS Smith said, ‘I thought Licence to Kill was just fiction.’ He was being serious, and he’d been straight with me. I owed him an answer.

  ‘I’ve never shot anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me, Sergeant, nor will I.’

  He grunted. ‘Fair answer. Just don’t say anything like that in your oral exam on Friday, or you’ll be dead in the water.’

  ‘Point taken.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get the daily reflection written up, then you can get off to do your downward dogs and tree postures. Is there a pose where the dog pees up the tree?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s for the advanced class.’

  I’d had to demonstrate touching my toes before PS Smith actually believed I went to yoga classes and not the pub. The daily reflection was a learning journal, completed together and a crucial part of my qualification. We were heading to the break room for coffee when Janet stuck her head into the corridor.

  ‘Visitor for you, Conrad.’

  PS Smith visibly bristled, and my antennae were twitching, too, but I let him go first.

  ‘Who is it?’ he demanded.

  ‘A visitor for Conrad,’ repeated Janet with a very delicate shrug, as if Smithy’s question were redundant.

  ‘How did he get in?’

  ‘I let him. He asked what time you were due to finish and left a note. I’ll go and get it now I know you’re not busy.’

  This smacked of magick. Of Glamour at the very least. Before PS Smith could jump in with both feet, I spoke up. ‘Janet, could you also bring my case out here? Please?’

  ‘Yes. No problem,’ she said, and disappeared.

  Smithy turned to me. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I don’t know. I have my suspicions, but believe me, this is nothing of my doing, or my boss’s, or my partner’s for that matter.’

  Janet came back with my case, which she’d looked after every day since I first arrived. It’s a wonderful Dwarven gun case, complete with a protective Work that makes strangers want to look after it for me. Very useful. She also had the message, which I glanced at and shared with Smithy: Meet me at Shornemead Fort. Four o’clock. 1600 if you like. Mack McKeever.

  ‘Do you know this clown?’ asked Smithy.

  ‘Yes and no. I know who he is, but I’ve never met him. I was supposed to meet him next week. In Birmingham. He’s one of my gang.’

  ‘Is he, now?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve seen the signs to Shornemead Fort. What is it? Where is it?’

  ‘It’s one of the old naval gun posts, in the middle of a bird sanctuary, about a mile and a half along the footpath. Nice day for a walk. And a trap, but I think you’ve guessed that.’

  ‘Mmm. I’ll have to go, though. Shall we get this reflection sorted, Sergeant?’

  Smithy grunted and said no more about it.

  If this was to be my last day on Earth, there are worse places to finish. The walk from the firearms centre to the fort was bathed in April sunshine, making the emerging spring green look like a leprechaun’s playground. A gentle westerly breeze blew away the sounds of shipping on the Thames and let the mating lapwings have the airwaves to themselves. The short path from the road joined up with the Saxon Shore Way, and I got to see why so many people found the Kent estuaries either bleak or beautiful. Or both.

  You couldn’t miss Shornemead Fort, which was sort of the point. It commanded the Thames in both directions and would have given any invader a torrid time. It was also difficult to miss the man standing on top of the old casemates – the big stone wall with holes for guns. He was the first person I’d seen since leaving the road, and he’d seen me, too.

  For a moment, he disappeared from view, and I activated my Ancile. I also looked at the surrounding marshes for flight options. He reappeared at the bottom and gave me a wave.

  It meant getting my feet wet, but I cut across a boggy pasture so that I could approach the fort from the open side, near the metalled track that led to the main road. The man waited until I was about 100m away, and opened his coat. From his hip, he drew a substantial dagger, standard issue for Watch Captains. There was a flash of light as the sun caught the blade, and the shadow of a woman holding a sword appeared behind him. Nimue, nymph and patron of the King’s Watch, holding Caledfwlch, aka Excalibur. I touched the same mark on the Hammer, and felt the tingle of magick. If this wasn’t “Mack” McKeever, Watch Captain of the West Midlands, it was such a powerful Mage that I was doomed, and he wouldn’t bother with all this subterfuge: he’d have walked into the firearms centre and blown me to bits. Or done the same when I caught the train.

  I lifted my hand in acknowledgement and lengthened my stride. When I got closer, I recognised his face from the noticeboard in Merlyn’s Tower. Watch Captains don’t usually plan long careers in the service and have moved on by their late twenties. Mack was one of the longest serving, and had the biggest area to cover outside Rick’s vast territories in Wessex and Cornwall, so what the hell was he doing stalking me down here?

  He spoke first. ‘So this is what a Dragonslayer looks like. I can’t say that I was expecting someone taller, because that would be blatantly untrue. Thanks for coming.’

  His voice gave nothing away, polished and public school. He had sandy hair that was blowing a lot in the breeze, and needed a good cut, as any RAF Sergeant would tell him. He was stocky, wrapped in several layers and had the pale skin that goes with pale hair. Pasty, my mother would call it. He was also a much stronger Mage than I was.

  ‘No problem,’ I said, ‘though you could have just sent me a text. I’ll have some explaining to do tomorrow.’

  ‘Thought I’d pop down and see what the brave new world of the King’s Watch is all about. Why have you got two guns, by the way?’

  ‘Well, Captain McKeever, as you no doubt know, one of them is empty. Until I get my enhanced ammunition, the mundane weapon has a place.’ I’d done my threat evaluation, and my risk assessment. It was time for a cigarette. When I’d lit one, I said, ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Have you ever read Great Expectations? The opening was set down here, in the Kent marshes. I’ve seen all this from the Eurostar, but I never thought I’d actually come here. I wouldn’t like to come back in winter, that’s for certain.’

  ‘Enough,’ I said. ‘I’ve loved the walk and enjoyed listening to the lapwings, so we’ll forget about all the rules you’ve broken so far. Now, before I go and get my train, is there anything you want to say that warrants dragging a senior officer out of his way, because a discussion of Charles Dickens won’t do.’

  ‘You’re not a senior officer, but I won’t argue the point. I hear you’re interested in the Dwarf Niði.’

  ‘I am, and the proper time to have this conversation is when my partner is with me. Saves me having to repeat myself and besides, she’s much cleverer than me.’

 
‘So I hear. You know that you need to start with the Gnomes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll find Clan Flint between Earlsbury and Dudley on an industrial park. Their cover name is Sparkshave Engineering and Metalwork. They even have a website, so finding them shouldn’t be a problem. You have dealt with Gnomes before, I take it?’

  I’d had enough of this, and I went in hard, with the tone I used to use on newbie pilot officers who hadn’t checked the weather forecast from two different sources. ‘What are you doing here, captain? I could have found this out from asking Maxine.’

  He flinched, and when he did, he gave himself away with a glance down to the grass.

  The spot he looked at was just to my left and on the margin of the path. With any other enemy, I’d have backed away. With Mages, it pays me to get up close and personal. Safer that way. I took two steps closer and barked, ‘McKeever! What’s going on?’

  ‘I quit!’ he shouted, not aiming at me but at that point on the grass. He took a step to his right, away from me but circling the mystery location. There was something there, hidden by magick, but I didn’t have the time or talent to investigate. I manoeuvred him off the path and into the bog.

  ‘I resign my commission!’ he said. ‘Please. Let me draw my Badge and hand it over.’

  If I’d had any ammunition, I would have arrested him. More for his safety than anything, because the bloke was clearly scared of something, and that something wasn’t me. ‘Fingertips of your left hand. Slowly.’

  He pulled back his coat and gingerly extracted the dagger. Runic inscriptions flowed along the blade, and the Mark of Caledfwlch glowed on the hilt. I’ve got one of those. It only glows when I really think about it. He must have a lot of Lux.

  He held the dagger carefully away from his body as he sank to his knees. What’s this all about? I took another step towards him.

  His knees splashed in the bog, and he moved with lightning speed to grab the dagger with both hands. I started to dash towards him, drawing a knife of my own. It’s the only thing that works inside the circle of an Ancile, but my knife came from a survival shop; his came from the Dwarves.

  Before I could close on him, he plunged the dagger blade first into the small pool in front of him. ‘From water you came, to water return. So mote it be.’ He garbled out the words before I could get to him, and something made me drop down, turning away. Good job I did.

  There was no bang, but there was a great explosion of light and Lux in equal measure and someone left the area. A tiny portion of Nimue had been in that mark, as there must be in mine, and she was gone, returned to the water.

  All my nerve endings were tingling and my left leg was burning as I rolled on to my back to see what was going on. McKeever had already moved away from the dagger, and was groping towards that spot of grass. The blast of magick had stripped away the Glamour, and I could see a mobile phone sitting there. We must have had an audience for our conversation.

  McKeever hadn’t got to his feet yet, which gave me just enough of an edge. I dug in and set off like a sprinter out of the blocks, hoping my bad leg wouldn’t give way. It didn’t, and I dived to reach the phone before Mack got there. That left me with the phone and him close enough to grab my leg and give me a huge electric shock.

  Aaaaaaargh … Aaaaargh …

  Everything was locked. Every muscle had seized in a spasm. Every tingling nerve was now screaming in protest, but my left leg was screaming loudest of all, and I used every ounce of willpower to move my right arm to grab it. When I moved one muscle, the others unlocked with a jump and started shaking. I grabbed my shin and some of the pain seemed to leach up into my arm, enough to balance things and give me a sliver of attention to devote to something other than pain.

  The water rushing through my ears drained away and I heard a car engine scream from down the access road as it sped away. I forced myself to come up on all fours, but I couldn’t balance because my left hand was a fist, and inside the fist was McKeever’s mobile phone, now bent into an alarming shape. There were a few angry cuts on my fingers, as if McKeever had tried to peel them back while I was out of it, and dug his nails in during the failed attempt. Serves him right. He shouldn’t have given me such a big shock.

  I looked up towards the path and saw a pair of black combat boots.

  ‘How is Inspector Rothman?’ said Smithy.

  ‘It’s Dame Colonel Rothman, now, and she’s in rude health. Emphasis on the rude. Are you going to help me up?’

  ‘Not yet. Try sitting for a while, until the shaking stops. I’ll get some water.’

  That was excellent advice, and I crawled to a dry patch, where I sat with my head between my knees until I heard Smithy’s footsteps crunching down the path. I took a deep breath and sat up. He sat next to me and passed me a bottle of water.

  ‘I never had you down for the King’s Watch,’ said Smithy.

  ‘What did you have me down for? And is your name really PS Smith?’

  He sounded indignant. ‘Leave it out. ’Course it is. I’d say call me Smithy, but you already have. I saw you write it in one of your notes to Janet. I never thought of the King’s Watch. I had you down as a cleaner for MI5. Lots of plausible deniability.’

  I tipped the water bottle to him. ‘Cheers. How did you come across the Watch?’

  He stared at the top of the casemates, remembering. ‘I worked in the same nick as Hannah when she was an Inspector. She was good. Could have gone all the way to the top if she’d played her cards right. Then she ups and leaves. Wouldn’t say where she was going, so we all knew she must be joining the cloak and dagger brigade. Even her husband got transferred to another station and promoted to DI.’

  ‘You knew him?’

  ‘Yeah. Sergeant Mikhail Rothman. We used to call him Mothman. Handy in a fight, and sharp as a tack. Transferred to CID when Hannah got Inspector. He even told us why – no one would compare their careers. Detective Sergeant is a good rank to stick at.’

  He went quiet, and I gave him some space. I checked my pulse, and it had come down to less than one hundred, so I lit a cigarette.

  ‘Next time I saw Hannah, I was first on the scene. I went with her in the ambulance. I even took some bits of her skull with me, to see if they could put them back together. Is she really still at work? The last time I saw her, she was only just conscious. I insisted on breaking the news about Mothman. I can’t believe she’s back at work after that.’

  ‘Very much so. She’s … you can see the damage. Some of it. Best CO I’ve ever served under.’

  ‘Good for her.’

  ‘You don’t have to answer this, Smithy, but what happened? She won’t talk about it.’

  He gave me a sardonic smile. They teach that on sergeant courses. ‘Something unbelievable, I know that much. Something that no one ever explained to me, because I didn’t want to know. Do you want to know what little I saw?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘When Mothman left Southwark, he moved to the Fraud Squad at West End Central. I moved to Counter Terrorism. One night we got a shout for something serious at an address in Mayfair.’

  ‘Mayfair?’

  ‘Upper Brook Street. Do you know it?’

  ‘No. My sister lives a bit further north. Sorry. Carry on.’

  ‘We were on our way back to HQ, and the control room said there was an officer in danger. We got there in less than a minute. There were already flames coming out the top of the building and the first floor windows had been blown out. Glass everywhere.’

  ‘You went in, of course.’

  ‘Of course. You would, too.’ I nodded. ‘It was weird. Big front door standing ajar, so I shouted a warning and kicked it fully open. Instead of a huge hallway, there was just a little box with a black curtain, half torn down. Behind it was another door. I shouts another warning and kicks that one down, too.’ He paused to take in some water. ‘Other side of that door was Hell. With a capital “H”.

  ‘The building had been
hollowed out, and the inside was all one space, and it was on fire. Bodies everywhere. Inspector Rothman was … on the floor. I won’t describe it. She deserves some dignity. I thought she was dead at first, and I scanned round for any threat or any survivors. I saw her husband in the corner. Well, I saw his head. On a spike. Then this woman, stark naked, comes out of the fire. Carrying a sword.’

  Smithy was on the edge. This story was taking him to a place he hadn’t been for a long time.

  ‘Do you know why I’m telling you this?’ he asked. ‘Because I’d forgotten all about the inside of that house until I saw her again, the sword-woman, that is. Here. When you marched up to that guy, I saw her, standing over him. Just for a second. Then I saw her again, when he did the thing with the knife in the ground. I may never forgive you for making me remember that.’

  I had stopped shaking from the human taser, and was now shaking from the cold. The breeze was definitely picking up. I stood up, to see how I felt. Just about okay. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I know someone who might be able to take it away again, but I think if Nimue wanted you to remember, she must have a reason.’

  ‘Nah,’ he replied, still seated. ‘I’ll live with it. Nimue, you say? Well, she takes this sword and lays it next to Inspector Rothman. I can’t remember the next bit, but she says, “Help her.” And then I realised I was on my own. I dropped my MP5, picked up the Inspector and took her outside. My whole team, and the paramedics, were getting back in their vans, and there’s these three blokes standing there, two of them holding daggers like that one in the ground. One IC1, old, one IC3, young, and one IC5 juvenile. “Who are you lot?” I says, and they say they’re the King’s Watch.’

  IC1, IC3, IC5. If you don’t speak police, that’s one white male, one black and one Chinese. I’m guessing Rick and Li Cheng for two of them, and Hannah’s predecessor as Constable for the old white guy.

  Smithy continued. ‘I screamed at the paramedics, put the Inspector down and ran back in. The fire had well got hold by now, no one else was moving, and all I could do was pick up my weapon. And what was left of the Inspector’s skull.’